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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29006514">And the gin?</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/weeo/pseuds/weeo'>weeo</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>I dried my silent tears with alcohol [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Peaky Blinders (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alcohol, Cigarettes, Dom/sub Undertones, Face Slapping, Frottage, M/M, Shameless Smut, Smut, thigh ridding</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 12:00:54</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,943</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29006514</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/weeo/pseuds/weeo</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Tommy wanted Alfie to taste his gin, once again.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Tommy Shelby/Alfie Solomons</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>I dried my silent tears with alcohol [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1494278</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>60</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Sholomons Prompt Fest 2019</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>And the gin?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">



        <li>In response to a prompt by
            Anonymous in the <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Sholomons_Prompt_Fest_2019">Sholomons_Prompt_Fest_2019</a>
          collection.
        </li>
    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hello everyone, it's been a while! I'm finally back with a little T/A smut. I hope you'll like it as much as I had fun writing it!</p><p>It's a small addition to the series I've started last year, but it can totally be read as a stand-alone as well. I situate this one a few months before the two other chapters. I'm not sure if this series is linked by more than the recurrent theme of alcohol and Alfie's oral fixation, but let's say it's enough! </p><p>It's also an answer to a prompt of a previous T/A fest :<br/>"Apologies to Richard Siken but:</p><p>A dark-haired man in a rented bungalow is licking the whiskey<br/>from the back of your wrist.<br/>He feels nothing</p><p>is too much not to offer as a prompt."</p><p>A big thank you to @comebackjessica for the beta, she's been so generous with her time!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Tommy was peeling an apple with a knife, slowly stripping its shiny skin. There was something sensual in the endless movement of his wrist, as the sharp blade slit through the juicy flesh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nothing in his fingers was exquisite. Broad and short, they were the only noticeable betrayal of his modest beginnings. And of his maturing soul. All other hints were well-hidden under his pristine suits and disdainful looks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fooled by his youthful features, it took simply a moment to look lower. To notice the way his veins erupted and his pale, ageing skin moulded around them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Tommy cut a slice of the apple, juice snaked down from the hollow of his palm to the side of his forearm. Streaming at a high speed around his wrist and easing back its path as the inclination of his limbs became less steep.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Will you fucking taste it?” Tommy asked, as he approached the knife from his lips to swallow the piece of fruit. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They’d been beating around the bush for an hour, at least. As if the weather was fitting for a game of cat and mouse. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The air was exceptionally suffocating and tacky for an English summer evening. Tommy had even ditched some of his usual tidy attire — not an ounce of fucking grey wool in sight. He was trapped in a cotton shirt, shambolic collar wide open and sleeves rolled up, distanced from the apt amount of care Alfie forecasted he would put into it. They faced each other but weren’t exactly sitting on the opposite sides of the table, separated only by the stifling air.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alfie didn’t know why he had arrived at his rented bungalow so late in the afternoon. The sky was dying in long pink streaks that ran through the clouds. The last rays of sunlight passing by the window were mirrored in the bottle of gin that Tommy carried with him</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alfie wasn’t in the best place to grumble about the situation, though, as he himself was the main bloody reason this supposedly short personal meeting was dragging on. He couldn’t pinpoint the precise terms of this accomplishment, but he hadn’t even got a glass out of the cabinet yet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, mate, I reckon I’ve already offered my input. For what reason did you bring that?” Alfie gestured towards the bottle with pursed lips.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy suspended time with his familiar slow blink. “New recipe,” he answered in a hoarse voice. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hmm, new recipe it is,” Alfie stated casually. “Will you make me try out every single one of them? Just so I know, mate.” He asked with his head up and eyes wide open. His palms, which couldn’t resist gesticulating before, remained joined together on the top of his cane.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had little time to catch Tommy getting up; the prick was already walking with bottle in hand towards the entrance. The half-consumed apple was abandoned near the knife that had been plunged into the wooden table. The sharpness of his movements suggested that he had practiced this exact puerile conduct several times prior to their gentle quarrel. When Tommy’s dead spouse said something to him that wasn’t pleasing to hear, and for which he had no response, for instance. Practical to bury an argument before it has even begun. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alfie snorted. Loud enough to make Tommy stop in his path and turn around in Alfie’s direction. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” Tommy grunted. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know, mate. Just, all that,” Alfie waved enigmatically between them “you see, that’s bloody ridiculous.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then, I won’t trouble you longer,” Tommy said, about to turn his back to him once more.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alfie tutted. “Don’t get all outraged, Tom. Never said I wasn’t going to taste your… stuff. Just sit down, alright.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For a couple of instants, they remained like that, gazes locked on each other. Tommy's face was sweaty, as was his exposed neck. The slightly translucent fabric of his shirt clung to his chest. Half of his collarbone stuck out when the suspenders pulled on the cotton as he squirmed in resignation. Alfie's eyes then dived into Tommy's low neckline. He didn’t mean to. It was just there and lovely to take a gander at.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He got up, pushing on his cane, to shake off his musings. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Open it, open it,” Alfie welcomed him with exaggerated eagerness in his movements. “I’m going to get a glass. But Tommy, you know,” he kept going with ungenuine concern, “I don’t touch—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t touch it,” Tommy cut him off as he headed for his previous chair. “I know.” The legs of the wooden chair squeaked despite his feline movements. “You have a good nose,” he struggled to dislodge the knife from its slot, before pulling it out in one go with a brisk, surprising strength, “that’s all.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He knew Tommy knew. It was funny, alright? That slight crease of rage between his brows; fucking endearing that sight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“See, no need to get on your high fucking horse, mate. You’re due for a drink as well, aren’t you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>While staring in the distance and fiddling with the blade, Tommy nodded silently.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alfie pointed at Tommy, who was taking his cigarette case out of his pocket. “You stay there then, treacle.” He dropped his cane on the side, to prove something. To himself, or to Tommy...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alfie got two glasses out from the drawer and poured the clear liquid into each of them. When he served Tommy, he got heavier-handed since Tommy was the one who really intended to drink it. Alfie wasn’t an enthusiast of squandering, as unnatural as that sounded. He endured it only when it was strictly essential. Like luring a business partner into a disadvantageous trade deal, for instance.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alfie’s legendary elegance in serving stepped in and a bit of liquid sprinkled out of Tommy's glass. Tommy rubbed his thumb on the side of the tumbler, catching the gin bead that trailed languidly against the squeaking glass. He casually licked the escaping drop from his thumb and, if he hadn't looked back at Alfie as he slipped it out of his mouth, it would have felt almost natural. A dance of smoke twirled around Tommy, as he clinged to the lit fag pressed between his fingers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You'd hate to waste even a drop, wouldn't you?” Alfie stared right through him. “You pass yourself off as a posh guy, yet you can’t deny your roots. The smells of piss and horse shit are covered up by your sweet, delicate cologne, but it’s fucking oozing from your little habits, mate.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If Tommy was embarrassed, he didn’t allow it to show. While puffing smoke, he shook his head towards Alfie’s glass. “How is it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, depends, mate. Is it a genuine answer you’re looking for? Or would you actually like me to believe that you drove down that long fucking road just to get my opinion?.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With the single exception of the stirring of his mouth, Tommy remained unmoving, resisting the cracking of the grin already sparkling in his eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, there it fucking finally is…” Alfie grinned so wide he was sure his abominable crooked tooth was showing off. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” Tommy frowned.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, nothing y’d have the honesty to admit.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy cocked an eyebrow and sucked on his cigarette.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mean, you know… and if you don’t know, then you just don’t fucking know. As simple as that.” Alfie toyed with his tumbler before finally taking it in hand. He twisted his glass so that the liquid swirled. He brought it to his nose to smell the alcohol and made it dance in the tumbler again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The more he stirred in order to inspect the liquor, the more people thought he was a specialist. Which was comical in a way, because firstly, he didn’t drink and secondly, he had a very personal perception of what he calls the good stuff: the ones that will either sell the most, or for the most. He was confident that his views matched Tommy’s in that sense.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He dipped two fingers in the glass and smeared the liquor on his opposite wrist, drawing them to his nose to sniff. Not awful, he thought, lowering his hand; he was interrupted midway by Tommy’s fingers enveloping his wet wrist. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy placed his cigarette in the ashtray's slot and lowered his head whilst holding Alfie’s gaze, his own piercing like an arrow. He had a firm grip as he bent down to draw Alfie’s wrist closer. Tommy’s fringe tips curled and fell on his moist forehead, tickling his nose. "I’d hate to waste one drop, eh?”, he said before licking Alfie’s wrist in a hot wet trail. His tongue felt like a stroke of velvet on the spot of thin, defenceless skin. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy then looked sideways at Alfie's other hand, the two fingers damp with gin. The idea that he might lick those fingers too delighted Alfie to no end, heat boiling under the skin of his cheeks. Sadly, Tommy only grinned and withdrew.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alfie was frozen on the spot until Tommy met his gaze again with that stupid smile draped over his lips. "When you look... like that," Alfie pointed from top to bottom at Tommy's body, "being a fucking prick with that smug look on your face, I just want to slap you, mate." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh, you do..." Tommy lingered, collapsing back into his chair. "Then, fucking do it."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anyone might think Tommy said it with authority, but it sounded as normal as if he was chatting about the weather. He flicked the stub of his finished cigarette into the heap of ashes, looking away with his usual state of obvious disinterest. His poorly contained grin unmasked the truth, though.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alfie was very rarely speechless, but one Tommy Shelby kept providing him with reasons to be.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy took a deep breath and drew the chair even closer, until they were face to face. With one hand, Alfie cupped Tommy’s jaw and circled his thumb over the other man's cheek, considering the possibilities.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy’s hot breath mingled with the smell of sweat. The low neckline folded in a way that left little to the imagination. Alfie wanted to reach inside Tommy’s shirt and grope anything he could get to. The chest, a shoulder, a nipple. Rub against Tommy’s chest hair. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy closed the distance between them and, slowly and deeply, kissed Alfie’s lips. The sweet taste of the sugary apple juice was still there, lingering on the tip of Tommy’s tongue. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do it. I want you to,” Tommy whispered against Alfie’s lips, as the kiss broke. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alfie was under Tommy’s spell. Tommy cocked an eyebrow, as encouragement. He really did want this. Alfie couldn’t pinpoint why but he had no doubt Tommy really did. Alfie was wary with this damn prick and his own brain ran in circles, planning how to hit Tommy just hard enough to wipe away his smugness and mockery. If Alfie were to suddenly become too kind to Tommy, nothing would save him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t you dare tell me that you’ve never dreamed of putting me in my place —”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy growled as Alfie's hand finally reached his right cheek and the pain sank in. Thanks to their sick little games, Alfie was already half-hard. All the blood in his body was now steering down to his dick. When the blow settled in, Tommy's head swung just a bit. He waited for more, wanting Alfie to indulge him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Again," Tommy immediately said, "I felt nothing."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was such a lie. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Endearing was all Alfie could think of. Tommy’s fingers twitched, suppressing the urge to rub his warm cheek, and he still taunted Alfie to go further. Such an arrogant little thing. Nothing was ever enough for Tommy. On the off chance that Alfie didn't exactly possess the last neuron of rational soundness — which would be fucking abnormal — he'd wind up ripping Tommy’s bloody head off. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you have qualms now, eh?” Tommy snickered .“I’d have picked all the more wisely if-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The unexpected impact caught him off balance. It was quick, precise, and two times rougher than the first blow. This time, Tommy’s head was propelled sideways.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He reached for his cheek on instinct. Sluggishly, he patted it and did not like this silent concession at all. Alfie could strike him hard enough, if he wanted to. He hadn't doubted it, but the reality took him aback.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fucked-up bastard that he was, Tommy closed the gap between them and devoured Alfie’s lips as though he had never wanted anything more. Alfie kissed him back with equal enthusiasm and tugged on Tommy’s shirt to pull him closer. The shambolic collar allowed him to uncover Tommy’s left shoulder and bite the flesh where the collarbone met the throat. Alfie would have eaten him alive if it could have made Tommy fully his. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Alfie went down to nibble on the exposed nipple, Tommy squirmed in his seat, hips tilted forward, fucking the air, looking for any kind of friction. His lips were shiny and wet, just like his eyes were dampened by the slaps.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alfie drew back and dipped two fingers blithely in the abandoned tumbler of gin on the table. “ So many wasted drops, Tom…” he dragged his fingers in front of Tommy’s face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy stared at him without moving an inch. Alfie led his fingers nearer to Tommy’s face, laid them delicately on his lips and smeared the liquid on the plump flesh. Tommy’s tongue flicked out, shamelessly, to taste the gin. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He came closer and licked the drop of liquor trailing down Alfie's fingers, lapped it like a kitten, and worked his way up to the top slowly. He languidly turned his tongue around the intrusive fingers and shoved them between his swollen lips, leaving his mouth full.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A picture worthy of the greatest Age of Enlightenment masterpieces. Valuable enough to be carved in marble, fixed and trapped on canvas til the end of time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greedy and insatiable, Tommy had drawn himself so close to Alfie that he was grinding on his knee. He only interrupted the movement of his hips when Alfie grazed Tommy’s left thigh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Go ahead, sweetheart. I’m watching you. Just before, you appeared to be enjoying yourself a whole lot.” Alfie grinned, gracing Tommy with a patronizing pat on the waist. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alfie smacked him across the face once more, the trace of his flat palm left a stinging mark on Tommy’s cheek. Tommy actually groaned and raised his hips again, without even thinking about it. There he was at last. A flower finally blooming after the snow had melted away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, fuck, just like that. So pretty,” Alfie couldn’t help it, despite knowing Tommy’s conflicting relationship with praise. Tommy fucking hated himself for loving it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It has come to my attention that you're an impressive rider, ain't you? Go on, love. Show me how good you are.”. He could feel Tommy's hard-on filling his underwear; Alfie’s fingers crept closer to it, undoing the buttons of Tommy’s pants one by one.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No fucking way-” Tommy tried. And it was just that. Trying. He was purposely teasing because he could, but he knew as well as Alfie that he was only pretending until he could do so no longer. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alfie slapped the last word out of his lips and Tommy moaned. Fucking moaned. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It's a waste, you know. It's such a waste when the mark of my hand isn’t imprinted on your arrogant face." Alfie rubbed his thumb tenderly on Tommy's abused cheek. As he stroked the burning flesh, Tommy flinched. "How can I stop if you continue to offer me reasons to make you shut up, treacle? ”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alfie grabbed Tommy’s bulge through his trousers, massaged it and teased. Tommy was so hard, the seams of his underwear threatened to tear. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Alfie withdrew his hand, Tommy had no choice but to rub against Alfie’s thigh. He hung his arms around Alfie’s neck to help himself thrust more earnestly and the hotness of his pants brushed against Alfie’s skin. Tommy looked like his mind had gone somewhere else as he rutted against Alfie like a horny teenager.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As Tommy’s eyes shut tighter with each thrust, his wide-open mouth sang with pleasure. Alfie wanted to lick and devour him whole. Every morsel of his insides, from his velvet soft tongue to each recess of his filthy mouth. He craved to crawl down the tunnel of his throat with his ripping claws. Follow the air entering Tommy’s body and suck it away from his lungs until they’d breathe the same. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck—” Tommy mewled. The remnants of his control lost deeper behind the quiver of his breaking voice. He reached toward his underwear before Alfie slapped his hand away, and then his face for good measure.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“None of that, sweetheart. You’re so close, keep going.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy gasped when he realized what Alfie wanted. He gave it a few more thrusts, as he kept moaning louder and louder, and came in long waves of pleasure washing over him. Mouth wide open and a wet fucking puddle of cum in his underwear.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alfie reached for Tommy’s cock to massage it. It was fucking soaked in there. If Tommy decided against staying the night, the stickiness in his pants would remind him how wrong that decision was all the way home. Tommy ended up collapsing on Alfie and now tried to stabilize his breathing as he came down from his high. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The leftover apple managed to turn brown on the wooden table. After a few moments of silence, Alfie whispered in the shell of Tommy’s ear: “Not sweet enough.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck off,” Tommy immediately spat back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I meant the gin, treacle.”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I hope you've liked it! Please, let me know in the comments if you did, I'm always happy to read your thoughts. </p><p>I'm <a href="https://weeo.tumblr.com/">weeo</a> on tumblr if you wanna chat.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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